


In The Quiet of The Night

by Jenna_Nicole



Series: Killervibe One-Shots 2020 [6]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically I wanted to write in present tense, Blame season 5 and 6 of the flash, F/M, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I'm not happy, KillerVibe - Freeform, So lets deal with that dumb angst, Why Did I Write This?, in a weird dramatic way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24186631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenna_Nicole/pseuds/Jenna_Nicole
Summary: Flurries decorate the windows, kissing the glass and reminding him that the snow is not his. That the snow is on the other side of the glass and if he opened up the window Kamilla may get cold.
Relationships: Cisco Ramon/Caitlin Snow
Series: Killervibe One-Shots 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696453
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	In The Quiet of The Night

If Caitlin had learned anything at all from the last few years, she knew that timing was everything. The correct components, a realization, a hidden secret, and a double knotted bond may fit together perfectly at some point in the timeline. But humans have always been ever-changing beings. Some need time, some move on, some try to forget, and some die. And there is absolutely nothing that can be done once that time has run out.

  
For instance, love doesn’t cease to be love, just because the timing is off. But sometimes, love just isn’t enough. Sometimes the winding pathway of life just leads people astray. Not everyone can wait for eternity. Not everyone can stand in the ugly shadow of rejection.

  
But sometimes, despite the winding pathways and the ever ticking clock, two people may get lucky. They have this moment, somewhere in the quiet of the night, where they take a breath from the chaos of their thoughts, and they just drift to each other.

* * *

For him it may be a restless night under the covers, pressed against a girl that makes him feel nice, that makes him even feel secure, but yet, doesn’t fill all the missing gaps. There is something in the back of his mind that causes him to remember how he once felt, back before he let his mind take the reins of his heart.

  
He slips away and makes his way to the window, looking out at Central City with an ache he can’t explain, with a restlessness that causes him to wish he could open a breach and slam his fists on that other woman’s door.

  
Maybe he would tell her what he felt during those sleepless nights after she had left him. When he used to sit up at night and feel his heart grow numb at that lack of her, reaffirming over and over to him just how deeply he had loved her. Just how deeply he still did. Even now, still did.

  
Maybe he would explain to her how his heart would roar with jealousy, wishing to know her completely. Wishing he could be as close to her as the girl trapped inside of her, privileged with the ability to protect her in a way he never could. But to love her in a way that even his bleeding heart begged to reach.

  
Or maybe, if he may get lucky, he would find himself muttering the worst “I love you” the world had ever heard, breaking the walls of time and bringing them back to that “It’s very nice to meet you.” Start over. Pretend he wasn't afraid to destroy the bond they had. Pretend he wasn’t afraid of the awestruck confusion of hearing her brotherly friend admit he felt things deeper than what he could put to words.

  
But no, he was alone in his girlfriend’s house, pausing for a moment.

  
He approached the window pane, pressing his hand against the glass, feeling the loss that he caused when he ran from the truth and tried to fill himself with love for someone that just wasn’t her. Tried, as if that could ever be good enough. As if that was something a genuinely in love person would have to do.

  
The quietness takes him and he puts his hands in his pockets. He wonders if the gravity of the quiet night hits her at all, or if it's just him, leaning into her warmth.

* * *

For her, it’s a blank expression, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. A part of her can’t believe she feels this way. Like her house was lit on fire while she slept, only for her to wake up and see everything in ruins, and realize that she is quickly dying from the intake of smoke. But no, it’s just him, and she missed her chance. The feelings crept in without warning. And so, she missed the chance to blow out the flame before it permanently demolished parts of her home.

  
She breathes in the quiet noise, wondering if she’ll ever breathe in his clean air, or see his free eyes again, back before he moved on from his oblivious best friend and tied himself tightly to someone he believed would actually love him.

  
She gazes upward, but then closes her eyes tightly, as if sending a silent prayer to whoever may be listening. To him, to God, to her own heart. She needs it to be clear that she was the one who didn’t catch up with him fast enough.

  
And he had waited. Oh, he had waited. But he couldn’t wait forever. He couldn’t be anything more than human.

  
But she wants to catch up with him tonight. Show him that her love is real. That it had always been real, but she had it all tangled up inside like a web of doubts and insecurities. She had been lost in delusions when the pieces came together, but now, now that he is happy, she can see it clearly. Now that the timing is wrong, it feels right for her.

  
But still, as she tries again to let go, she is drawn to him, and she stumbles to her couch, wrapping her arms around the t-shirt loose on her chest, smelling like him and causing her mind to time travel to a time when she was blissfully unaware of her love for him.

  
And blissfully unaware that he was hurting behind his sunny eyes, trying to push his own feelings away.

  
 _Silly girl_ , she tells herself. Or maybe Frost tells her. She doesn’t bother to care.

  
Her mind drifts to him and she can’t stop herself. She sees his face in the shadows. In the night sky. In a silhouette by the door when she glances too quickly.

* * *

When minds drift like that, there is always a chance that they may grasp it. Cling to that feeling and ignite the flame long blown out. If they are lucky. Very, _very_ lucky.

  
Maybe not all together. One may straggle behind. One may take a moment to reassemble what they once thought was clear. What they once thought was a choice that made sense. Sometimes it may hurt. Sometimes it may bend both over backwards. But it is, in its nature, good.

  
Because there is a reason they are both up. There is a reason their minds drift to each other. And the reason, nobody can truly put to words. Because nobody should. Nobody should ever try.

* * *

He can’t take it anymore. Try as he might, he cannot love the woman beside him as much as he does that other one. He kisses her. He hugs her goodbye. He even whispers a quick “I love you” that later feels bitter on his tongue. But despite how hard he tries, there is still something missing. And he knows exactly what, or rather _who_ , it is.

  
“You look tired,” that other woman says, scooting in beside him. “Late night?”

  
He shakes his head, but then nods. “Something like that.”

  
Her voice lowers as if she’s whispering something secretive. “Did you and Kamilla go out?”

  
He turns to face her, missing the avoidance of her eyes. “No,” he says rigidly, feeling that missing piece gape bigger, like this woman has the power to stretch him thin just as easily as fill him.

  
“What about you?”

She just shakes her head quickly. “No, I was home.”

  
“I mean, sleep? Did you get sleep?”

  
She avoids him again, remembering the smell of the t-shirt, and the disappointment when she realized that the silhouette by the door had been imagined. She wants to cry but she can’t feel anything. She just nods. “Some.”

  
They both feel the tension, but they think it must be on their side only. So they look away from each other, letting the distance widen. And it hurts so badly, but they’re sure it can’t be helped.

* * *

She can’t take it anymore. She just can’t let go of that t-shirt, or the nights on the sofa, or the breaches in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep. She remembers the smell and shade of the blue and gray paint he helped her color her apartment with. She can remember summer breezes hitting her face when they sat together on the kitchen floor. And the kitchen dancing to some popular song she couldn’t remember and soft hands she could never forget. 

  
And he was a friend to her then.

  
But now. Now he is farther than ever, even though he sits just a few inches away.

  
“I can’t help but think,” he says, turning his seat around, “that you’re keeping something from me.”

  
“What would I keep from you?”

  
He looks like a child, searching her eyes for a sign of something. A sign of something real enough for him to try again. To let go of his attempts at love and let himself fall into it.

“Nothing,” he whispers, laughing. “Right. _Right_ , of course.”

  
“ _Cisco._ ”

  
He lets go of the hope. “Don’t worry. Never mind.”

  
“What is it?”

  
“It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.”

  
But she can't. She wonders if it is possible that he feels the wedge between them as strongly as she does. That he wants to question her about it, but doesn't know where to start. With them, where can they?

* * *

“Caitlin, why won’t you look me in the eye?” he asks. “Why _can’t_ you look me in the eye?”

  
Flurries decorate the windows, kissing the glass and reminding him that the snow is not his. That the snow is on the other side of the glass and if he opened up the window Kamilla may get cold.

  
The _Snow._

  
He doesn’t mind the cold. Not anymore. He relishes in it. He needs it. It is like a reminder that she is always near.

  
He turns to the girl in his bed, sleeping softly, with no idea that his mind is so far away from her. And it pains him to know he will never be able to give her what he should. That he will always be tiptoeing to the window at night, searching for something else that isn’t in their home.

  
He is dishonest. A liar to her. A liar to himself.

  
He drops his head into his hands, combing through his tangled locks. He can’t do this anymore.

  
So he promises himself, putting his eyes on the girl, that he will offer her the kindest goodbye.

* * *

She wants to tell him what she is keeping from him. Perhaps, with the words out of her chest and into the air, accepted or not accepted, she may at least feel relief. She may at least be able to look herself in the eye and know that she did not lose him because of her weakness, but because he doesn't love her.

  
In her imagination, Cisco laughs. He laughs so hard that tears come from his eyes.

  
But it makes her see her own delusion all that much clearer.

  
That just is not Cisco.

  
Not the Cisco that she loves.

  
She makes the foolish choice to scroll through their old messages, letting her heart swell at the slow decline of messages as the days pass. Many times, it is her own fear. So she holds back. She shortens her responses.

  
She wishes she didn’t.

  
She finds herself typing, quite simply, _you up?_

  
She rests her head on the doorway as the three little dots bounce around like her startled heart.

* * *

He can picture apartment 301 already, and the word _home_ echoes softly in his mind.

  
He sinks into the chair by the bed.

  
_You know I’m an insomniac. Why the hell are you up?_

  
Her response is quick, like a retort in an argument. _I need to talk to you._

  
He needs to talk to her too. And badly. But he isn’t ready. He needs to say goodbye first. He needs to let go of the woman sleeping beside him before he can go to Caitlin. Because if he goes to Caitlin, and he says the words, and she feels the same, he knows he will have no restraint to keep him from betraying Kamilla.

  
She must have noticed his silence. _If you’re tired, we can talk tomorrow._

  
 _Tomorrow,_ he says, tucking the blanket around his girlfriend and pressing a kiss to her cheek. He cares for her. He cares for her a lot. But the _I love you_ that he says out of habit feels dishonest.

  
The bright face of his friend lighting up his phone causes the guilt to hide itself. It is clear. He understands it. He understands that he will never be able to move on from Caitlin. Even if maybe he should.

  
He ends up on Kamilla’s sofa, somehow comparing it to the one in Caitlin’s living room, wondering why it is more comfortable there. Wondering why it is so much easier to sleep with her at the other end of the room.

  
 _Tomorrow,_ echoes in his head again, and he melts into the cushions, trying not to be anxious. He tries not to let his mind wander to the possibility that this talk she wants is related to the team rather than him. He fears it, pouring out his heart and soul, just to have Caitlin kindly tell him to let it go. Because he knows no matter how it may be said, the words he wants to tell her will change them. It has to. But there is already distance between them. This will either save them or break them for good.

* * *

He ends things with Kamilla in the early morning, saying goodbye in the most delicate way possible. In all fairness, it hurts more than he expected it to, and as he gathers his things, a single tear drips onto the windowsill.

  
Because he wanted it to work. He wanted it to be easy. But now he knows, it isn’t supposed to be easy.

  
Time has a way of its own. Time pulls Caitlin away when he reaches, and lets him move forward when she makes herself ready. Time never stops for a moment. Time never offers a helping hand. Time allows the people to reach through time, and hopefully, get lucky and make it. But time stops for no one.

  
Regardless, Cisco is prepared to wrestle time if he has to.

* * *

301.

  
_Home._

  
He places his fist on the door, hitting it only once before the door swings open to reveal his best friend. She is dressed up, much like she used to before Frost replaced her pencil skirts with jeans. She ushers him in, welcoming her with her eyes as if he has never been there before.

  
“Okay,” she says, and he hears her tremor.

  
“Okay,” he repeats, and lets his body fall into the warmth of her creamy sofa.

  
She’s across from him, hugging one of those familiar grey pillows and staring down at her hands. Tension cuts between them and he wonders if today is even the right time. If he’s wasting his time, showing up just to break his own heart all over again.

  
They are both consumed by _when_ it should have happened, terrified today is too late.

  
Each moment they open their mouth to speak, they clamp it shut and let the silence bury them both.

  
Cisco has enough and he slips close to his friend. He reaches for her hand and rests it on her lap. He gives her a calm gaze, betraying the explosion happening in his somersaulting stomach.

  
“Okay,” she says, as she did before. “Okay, let’s talk.”

  
“You first,” he offers, as if he's trying to be a gentleman.

  
Her eyes glare almost, and she looks at him with confusion. “There’s something you need to talk about too?”

  
He nods. “Yes, but you go first.”

  
She panics, afraid it's all wrong again. If she goes first, she may not be available to talk about whatever Cisco needs to talk to her about. She may burst into tears. She may run away from him. It simply isn’t fair for him to let her go first.

  
He senses her apprehension and squeezes her hand. “Unless you’d prefer we both say what we need to say at the same time.”

  
“The same time?” she asks, and she’s terrified, but she nods. “Yes, okay.”

  
A beat of silence punctuates their panic, and they both blurt the words out at the same moment. One says,“I love you,” and the other says, “I broke up with Kamilla.”

  
“Cisco, I’m sorry,” she says, and tears fill her eyes.

  
“No, Caitlin, I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

  
She looks away, growing scarlet under his worried eyes.

  
He breathes heavily, shaking in his cowardly body. He hates himself for not echoing her words and the elation does not hit at first. And then, he remembers what she said and he gasps inwardly, placing his eyes on her.

  
"I broke up with Kamilla," he says again, bringing his hands to her cheeks. "Because I love you."

  
There's a weird moment where they lose balance, and they look into each other, unsure.

  
They both know how stupid it is to be unsure. They both declared their hearts desire and they stare openly at each other with the widest dove eyes either had ever seen.

  
"Oh," she says, and her eyes are like cinnamon. "Oh, I see."

  
Her smile is dazzling.

  
Her smile is relief.

  
They can't hear the ticking clock on the wall behind them.

  
But one may ask, will they make it? Will the timing be alright or will it ruin them? It's a worthy question.

  
But in truth, they have no worries. They see each other, and their fate is entirely up to them.


End file.
